A Well Deserved Comeuppance
by Knowing Grace
Summary: The Jessup Gang get a little more than they bargained for when they pick a fight with a certain stranger. A slight AU story that kind of ties in with "Missing" and "A Father's Gift", but you don't have to read those first to understand what's going on.


**Hey, everyone! I just finished writing this piece today and it hasn't been beta read, so it probably has typos in it. ;)**

**It kinda ties in with two of my other stories, "Missing" and "A Father's Gift", but you don't have to have read them first to understand what's going on. **

**Just so there's no confusion, in "A Father's Gift", Adam fought in the Civil War and had his left foot amputated.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bonanza, it belongs to its respective owners. I only own Sam and the Jessup boys. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Now that that's out of the way, enjoy, and please let me know what you think! Flames are for fireplaces not fanfiction so, please, keep all comments clean. Constructive criticism is always welcome! :D**

**PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING:**

**According to Webster's New World Dictionary of the American Language copyright 1960, the word "Desert" means the following: fact of deserving punishment. 2. often pl. deserved reward or punishment: as he got his just deserts. 3. the quality of deserving reward; merit.**

**According to Oxford dictionaries . com, deserts means: What a person deserves with regard to reward or (more usually) punishment: "The penal system fails to punish offenders in accordance with their deserts."**

**Also, according to Dictionary . com, desert means: **

**Noun: 1. Usually, deserts. Reward or punishment that is deserved: "Death was his desert."**

**2\. The state or fact of deserving reward or punishment.**

**3\. The state or condition of being worthy, as in character or behavior: merit, virtue, worth.**

**The word "Desserts"-according to Dictionary . com-means: Cake, pie, fruit, pudding, ice cream, ect., served as a final course of a meal.**

**All of that aside, I have decided to change the title to "A Well Deserved Comeuppance" instead.**

* * *

_**A Well Deserved Comeuppance**_

_**by Knowing Grace**_

There were three of them, and when they strutted through the batwing doors and into my saloon, I knew that the day had just gone to hell in a handbasket.

"Give us some beer, Sammy." Clive Jessup demanded, straw-colored hair flopping into his blue eyes—hiding them from view. Irritation welled up inside of me, but I kept it at bay, knowing that bucking a stacked deck was rarely ended well. So instead of acting on my feelings, I complied with the arrogant whelp's orders. Without even a thank you, the trio grabbed their drinks and settled down at a table in the center of the room.

As if they could smell a fight brewing, the other patrons quickly paid their dues and headed out—unwilling to stick around and possibly catch some lead if things went south. One by one, they all made their excuses to me and fled into the sweltering mid-July afternoon. All of them skedaddled, that is, save for one.

In the far corner of the saloon sat a lone figure, garbed in an expensive, black travel-suit—his cane leaned casually against the edge of the table within arm's reach. His dark hair and well-trimmed beard were streaked with grey. The lines around his brown eyes led me to believe that he was good tempered, but the scars on his knuckles and the six-shooter at his side spoke of a man who knew how to handle himself should a difficulty arise. Whatever else he might be, this man was no tenderfoot.

There was something about him that nagged at me, something familiar that I just couldn't put my finger on and it had been bothering me ever since he limped into my establishment. I may be old, but I had a knack for remembering faces, and I knew in my bones that I had met him somewhere before. The problem was, my mind wasn't cooperating with me. With a shrug of my shoulders, I pushed the matter aside and went back to what I did best: minding my own business.

"Hey, Sam, can I get a refill, please?" The man I had been contemplating called, effectively pulling me out of my thoughts. Grabbing a pitcher, I quickly made my way over to him and poured the amber liquid into his empty mug. "Thanks." He said, and I gave him a small smile. As I slid back behind the bar, I noticed that the stranger dressed in black had unfortunately gained the attention of the Jessups. The smile that they shared between themselves could only mean trouble, and as they stood and swaggered over towards the lone man, I reached for the stock of the sawed off shotgun I kept beneath the counter for just such a purpose.

"Hey, you, old timer!" Said Clive, slamming his palms down on the tabletop in front of the stranger. The man didn't so much as bat an eye at the antics of the eldest Jessup boy. Instead, he picked up his mug and took a long sip of beer before carefully setting it back down, paying no mind whatsoever to the bullies standing before him.

Clive's face turned several shades of red as he realized that he was being ignored, so he decided to try a different tactic. Sweeping his arm across the table, he sent the half-empty glass flying across the room where it shattered upon impact with the rough hewed floorboards.

_Looks like I'll have to put in another order at Hoyt's Mercantile, _I mused, aggravated at the thought of having to shell out more money on glasses for the second time in two months.

"I presume that you are addressing me?" Said the stranger, slowly raising his eyes until they met Clive's.

"A'course he is." Grumbled Harvey Jessup, oblivious to the polite tone with which the older man had spoken.

"The boys an' me wanna drink." Said Clive.

"The boys and I." The stranger murmured just loud enough for me to hear, and had the situation been less life-threatening, I would have chuckled.

"That's what I said."

The man leaned back in his chair. "Well, in that case, why are you standing here talking to me abut it? If you ask Sam over there, I'm sure he would be willing to serve you." He said, dryly.

"Give us yer money an' we'll do juss that." Harvey piped up again. Duke Jessup slowly pulled out one of his knives and fingered the sharp point of the blade.

"No can do, boys."

"Mistuh, I don't think ya know who yer talkin' to." Said Duke, moving a bit closer to the stranger. "Ya see, me an' my cousins here own this town, an' if Clive tells ya he wants a drink, ya better pay up or get ready to bleed."

The man arched one eyebrow and placed his hands on the edge of the table. "Apparently there is something wrong with your ears. I didn't ask you who you were or why I should hand over my hard earned money to the likes of you no accounts. I said no, and when I say something, I mean it."

Duke lunged forward, knife at the ready, but he was a hair too slow. The stranger suddenly flipped the table over, striking Harvey in the chin, knocking him to the floor. Ducking under Duke's blow, he snatched his gold-tipped cane and struck the red-headed Jessup boy right where it hurts and the youth folded like a house of cards. Needless to say, he'd be singing soprano in church come Sunday.

Clive Jessup, who had managed to leap out of the way of the table, dropped his hand to his gun butt. He was a little too late; the man in black hit him across the side of the head with his walking stick and then twisted his right arm up behind him, effectively preventing him from doing any further mischief.

In that instant, I recognized him. he was a bit older than he was the last time I saw him, but then again that had been nigh on eight years ago.

"I know exactly who you are. I've seen your kind before: men whose daddies forgot to teach them not to squat with their spurs on, or to treat those older than them with respect unless they prove themselves unworthy of it. Oh, yes, I've seen many a wet-behind-the-ears kid like you who thought he could run roughshod over folks, get gunned down under a hot, Summer sun. Boot hill is full of men like you.

Now, you listen to me, and you listen good! I've been on cattle drives and busted more broncos than you're likely to see in your lifetime. I've fought Indians, chased rustlers, helped my pa raise my two younger brothers, and lost part of my leg serving my country, so don't think that you can push me around. I'm a patient man, but if you feel like settling this argument with violence, than you can take that gun and we'll see just how man enough you truly are. So, what's it going to be? Do you feel lucky enough to call me out?" The man asked, his voice deadly serious. Clive said nothing.

A movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I raised my shotgun and let blast. Duke's knife flew out of his grasp and the boy howled in pain, holding his mangled right hand to his chest. He turned to look at me, eyes wide and full of disbelief.

"Y-ya shot me." I pointed the smoking barrel in his direction; I held no sympathy in my heart for a snake who would have stabbed a man in the back.

"There's more where that came from if you feel like trying me." I said.

"I think that you boys have outstayed your welcome, am I right, Sam?" I nodded in agreement. The man jerked Clive's arm, puling it further back until a whimper of pain escaped the youth's lips. "I'm going to let you go this time but I'm planning on sticking around this town for a quite a while. If I hear one word from Sam or anyone else about you three stepping out of line like this again, I'll tan your hides and send you off to the sheriff's office. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes, Suh." He released Clive and pushed him forward.

"Now, get your brother and cousin and get out of here." Clive nodded, and set the table upright—scooping his dazed little brother up off of the floor where he lay, breathing heavily. Duke stumbled after his cousins. They were nearly to the door when the man called after them, "Aren't you forgetting something?" They turned and looked at him, faces blank. He gestured with his head towards me and I heard Clive sigh. He passed Harvey over to Duke and made his way over to me. Digging into his pockets, he dropped some coins onto the counter and turned to go, but the man in black cleared his throat. "Add a dollar to that for the damages you cause, boy." Clive looked as if he had just bitten into a sour pickle, but he complied. Once that was done, the trio couldn't seem to leave the saloon fast enough. I chuckled as they stumbled over each other in their haste to get shut of my place.

"Thanks, you just did this town a big favor." I said, turning to find that the man had stepped up to the bar. He tilted his hat back on his head and grinned at me.

"Well, you know me, Sam, I do like to deal out justice from time to time whenever I get the chance." He winked at me and dropped a ten dollar bill on the counter. "That's for destroying your table." He said. "I better get on home before Pa sends the cavalry out to get me. I'm a day later than I told him I would be."

I reached out and shook his hand. "It's good to have you back, Adam."

"It's good to be back, Sam." He said, and releasing my hand, he limped towards the door, leaning heavily on his cane. As he stepped out onto the boardwalk, I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face.

"Well, maybe things are starting to look up again in this town after all." I muttered to myself before collecting my broom and moving over to clean up the mess on the floor.

**~ The End**


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